She would remember him.
As a little girl, Muirin had revered her teacher, thought his son a true prince of Eire. She’d thought him as far beyond her reach as the sea from the stars. But now . . . Handsome and kind though he was, she tried to ignore the way her heart beat faster when he was around. Domhnall had been dead only seven months, God rest his soul, and she had no business caring for another man. Not yet. But she could help Fionn, return the kindness he had showed her by caring for little Aidan. Fionn had brought Aidan to her, and with Aidan had come the sunshine. He chattered all the time, asked lots of questions. He worked as hard as a boy of nine could. He kept the hearth piled high with peat, fed the chickens and cows, collected the day’s eggs without cracking a single shell, carried water from the well. She suspected he was trying to be the man about the house, and she would indulge him and praise him for his efforts as long as he didn’t do something that might get him hurt. Muirin watched, charmed, as he scraped the bottom of the bowl for the last bit of broth, wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Have you eaten your fill, or would you like a third helping? I can’t have you doin’ a man’s work on a child’s portion.”
“I’m full now, thank you.” He hopped up from the table, scattering crumbs on the floor. “You know what?” “No, what?”
“Fionn says I’m going to be taller than him someday.” “And well you might. I remember your father, and he was a tall man. You take after him.”
“Fionn says—“
But his words were cut off by the sound of approaching hooves.
Muirfn felt a surge of panic. “Aidan, quick! Hide in the comer under the bed. Don’t come out, no matter what! Do you understand?”
The boy’s face paled, but he lifted his chin. “I’m not afraid! I can fight—“ “I know you’re not afraid, Aidan. You’re a brave boy, but now is not the time to fight. Do as I say. And don’t come out until I call you, no matter what you see or hear! Go!”
Aidan moved reluctantly at first, but as the hooves neared the cottage, he ran to the small bed and disappeared beneath it.
Muirin smoothed her apron, took a deep breath, tried to calm herself. Her mind exploded with unanswered questions. Had the
iarla
found the hideout? Did he know she was helping Brighid? Had he sent his men for Aidan? She pushed the questions aside, opened the door, stepped out, tried not to gasp.
The
iarla
himself.
She closed the door behind her, prayed Aidan would do as he was told. The day was cold and overcast, but in her fear she barely felt the chill.
The
iarla
jerked his mount to a stop. Behind sat half a dozen men on horseback.
“My lord.” She curtsied, buried her trembling hands in her apron. “I am honored.”
“You are O’Connelly’s widow, are you not?”
“Aye.”
“You live here alone since your husband’s death.”
Muirin hesitated. “Aye, my lord.”
“Do you hear, gentlemen? This good woman is out here all alone without male protection.”
His men shouted, their voices tinged with lust.
“We shall do our best to keep an eye on you. I’d hate for anything to happen.”
She heard the threat in his voice, kept her silence.
Please let him ride on.
“I’m told that the eldest of the old hedgerow teacher’s sons often visits you.”
Her heart raced. Her mouth went dry. “Master Ui Maelsechnaill has been kind enough to do the man’s work here since my husband passed on.”
Lascivious laughter rose from the men, and some made crude gestures with their hands to show exactly what they thought men’s work entailed.
She felt her face flame, forced her gaze to the pebbles at her feet.
“You wish to see me, my lord?”
She gasped, spun about. It was Fionn. He’d come up behind her and stood, sweat on his brow, hayfork in hand. Relief flooded through her. But how—
His eyes told her not to ask; then his gaze shifted from her to the
iarla.
Though he held the hay fork with its tongs pointing into the earth, she felt the tension in his body, sensed the masculine power coiled within him.
He came forward, put himself between her and the
iarla
.
Fionn looked into the eyes of the soulless bastard who had kidnapped his sister, threatened his brother, murdered Father Padraig—and felt deadly calm steal over him. He’d come over the crest of the hill to see the
iarla
riding straight for Muirin’s cottage. At once, he’d abandoned his cart of freshly cut peat on the road and run, only one thought on his mind. Muirin and Aidan were in danger.
He’d kept to the ravine that ran behind her fields, where no one would be able to see him, and had approached the cottage from behind. He’d heard the
iarla’s
voice, heard the filthy laughter of his men, slipped into the bam. Though they outnumbered him seven to one, he would not face the whoreson without some kind of weapon. No one would touch her or the boy. “Speak of the devil.” The
iarla
shifted in the saddle, smiled arrogantly down at Fionn. “I understand you’ve been helping the good widow with her chores since her husband’s death. How charitable.” “l can’t take all the credit, my lord. The men and older boys in the parish stop by when they can to lend a hand.” Let him think Irishmen were popping in and out all day long. Let him think she was rarely alone. “Mistress Congalaig has suffered great loss, and we all want to see she’s cared for. Might I inquire about my sister, my lord?” The
iarla’s
eyebrows rose, nearly touched his white wig. “It’s on your sister’s behalf that I’ve sought you out. I’m afraid a guest of mine has spirited her away from under my very roof, and I don’t know what’s become of her.”
Fionn did his best to look shocked, angry. It wasn’t hard. “But, my lord—“ The
iarla
raised a gloved hand, cut him off. “I have men looking for him both here and in England. I trust we’ll find him soon. I thought perhaps she might have contacted you in some way or that you might have heard something. A rumor of her whereabouts?” Fionn allowed his voice to take on an edge. “I’ve heard nothing of my sister since your men took her, my lord.” “And what of your brother, the young rapparee?” “I sent him away, my lord. I’ll not be havin’ him stirrin’ up trouble for the rest of us.”
"I see. Quite sensible.” Disappointment tinged the
iarla’s
words. “Where did you send him?” “Dun na nGall, my lord. County Donegal. We’ve relations there.”
“You Irish seem to have relations everywhere. You breed like rats.” The
iarla
sighed, motioned one of the riders forward.
Fionn tightened his grip on the hay fork, held his ground.
The rider approached, drew a white bundle from under his coat, handed it to the
iarla
. The
iarla
shook it out, unfurled it like a sail, dropped it at Fionn’s feet. His men laughed.
Fionn realized it was linen, a bedsheet. And it was stained with blood.
Careful to keep his grip on the hay fork and his eye on the
iarla,
he bent, retrieved it, stared at the brownish patches of old, dried blood.
“I was hoping I could prevail upon you to keep an eye out for this Englishman. As you can see, he was quite taken with your sister. He enjoyed her thoroughly before stealing away with her.”
Rage was a drumbeat in Fionn’s ears. His hand balled into a fist, clenched the linen, crushed it. He forced his arm down to his side, drew cold air deeply into his lungs. But nothing could remove the expression of anger from his face. He met the
iarla’s gaze
unwaveringly. “Aye, my lord. My sister was . . . is an honorable woman. Whatever this Englishman did, I know it was not of her desiring. I will keep my eyes open. If I find him, I will—“ “You will send for me. I will take care of him myself.”
The
iarla’s
voice was heavy with arrogance. “Any Irishman who raises a hand to him will pay with his life. He is an Englishman and therefore my problem. Is that clear?” The
Sasanach
was a lying, deceiving bastard. “Aye, my lord.”
The
iarla
kicked his horse with his heels, turned its head. “Keep the sheet. Let it be a souvenir to remind your sister of her lost innocence.”
Fionn watched them disappear, sent silent curses winging after them. “God’s blood!”
He heard Muirin’s sigh of relief, felt her hand rest tentatively on his shoulder. Her touch helped calm the fury, sent sparks skittering through him.
“They’re gone.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
He let the hay fork fall to the ground, turned to her. Her face was still pale with fear, and he could see she was trembling. “Aye, they’re gone. But for how long? I heard how he threatened you.”
Then he did something he should not have done. He dropped the sheet, pulled her into his arms, held her close. Fragile she was, soft, and she shook from head to toe. He felt her shudder, felt her wet, warm tears through the linen of his shirt. He rocked her back and forth, his lips on her hair, as she wept.
U
I will not let him hurt you, Mistress O Congalaig.”
She sniffed, stepped back, looked up at him. “Please, Fionn. Call me Muirin. Once a woman has soaked your shirt with her tears, it’s permitted.” A small smile crept over her lips.
Her beauty assaulted him. Lovely she was, like a wildflower.
Her small nose was kissed with tiny freckles, her skin clear and soft. Her hair was tucked demurely beneath a white
ciarsur
as was customary for married women, but he remembered it was thick and long, the color of wild honey. Her eyes, though shadowed by grief, were green like a meadow in springtime. “Aye, Muirin.” He raised a hand to her cheek, wiped her tears away. It felt so good to speak her name, to hear her speak his. “What are you going to do?” She looked down at the sheet.
Fionn felt the edges of his anger return. “I don’t know. Brighid says the
Sasanach
didn’t defile her, and I don’t think she’d lie to me, unless . . .” Unless she had feelings for the
Sasanach
and wanted to protect him. Rhuaidhri suspected as much. Perhaps Fionn should have paid more attention to what his little brother had to say. “It could be anyone’s blood, Fionn. The
iarla
wants your help, and that’s why he showed you this. He meant to provoke you.”
“Aye, you’re right. I need to talk to Brighid. But if I find out she lied, the
Sasanach
will wish he’d died the first time.”
Chapter Nine
Muirin gasped. “Aidan!”
Fionn grabbed the sheet, followed her through the door. It was the first time he’d come inside since Domhnall had died. He’d not wished to intrude on Muirin’s grief, had kept his distance. Domhnall was a good man, had been a good friend.
“You can come out now, sweet.” Her gaze fixed on the bed in the comer. “Fionn has come.”
Aidan emerged face-first, eyes wide with fear. When he saw them, he scooted quickly out, rushed to Muirin, buried his head in her apron.
She stroked his red hair, murmured reassurances to him. “You did exactly as I told you, and I’m right proud of you, Aldan.”
Something twisted in Fionn’s chest. If only her child had lived. She’d have been a wonderful mother. The boy turned his head, looked up at Fionn. “I was afraid. I heard the horses, and I was afraid the bad man would take Muirin, too, just like he took Brighid.” “I’m not going to let that happen,
a phraitin.”
He hadn’t been able to stop it when they’d taken Brighid. Or Father. He hadn’t been there.
Aidan stepped back from Muirin, as if suddenly embarrassed to be hiding in a woman’s skirts. He lifted his chin. “I didn’t mean to be afraid, Fionn. I want to be brave like you and Rhuaidhri.”
Fionn knelt before him, put a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “I was afraid, too. I saw those horses ride up to the door, and I was afraid.”
Aidan looked stunned at this news, regarded Fionn through solemn eyes.
“Bein’ brave doesn’t mean you’re not afraid, son. It means you do what you must despite bein’ afraid. Muirin says you did exactly what you were told, and that means you were very brave.” Fionn stood, tousled the boy’s hair. Aidan smiled up at him as if relieved of a burden. “Now run outside and fetch us some water from the well. Talkin’ to that vile Sasanach has left a bad taste in my mouth, so it has.”
The boy flew out the door, wooden bucket in hand.
Fionn turned to Muirin. He’d made up his mind. He hadn’t even had to think it over. “Muirin, I—“
She held up her hand to quiet him. “Thank you.” A sad smile turned up the comers of her lips. Fionn felt his thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.
How could her smile affect him so? “For what?” “For standin’ up to the iarla. For protectin’ me. For protectin’ us.” A blush rose into her cheeks. “I did nothin’ but stand there with a hay fork and listen while he insulted you, while he insulted my sister and all of Ireland.”
“I think the proper response, Fionn, is ‘You’re welcome.’” This time her smile wasn’t sad. It was almost... teasing.
He felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him.